


in puppetry, strings are always attached

by doomcake



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mukuro POV, Psychological Drama, Rare Pairings, Supernatural - Freeform, Temporary Character Death, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-20
Updated: 2009-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcake/pseuds/doomcake
Summary: The target has always been Sawada Tsunayoshi’s body.Always. So when you get a chance to work your way to the top of the Vongola through none other than its Right Hand Man, you aren't going to let it slip by. However, you should know by now that many of your schemes have yet to go as planned.





	in puppetry, strings are always attached

**Author's Note:**

> 2017 NOTES:  
> This was originally written for [](http://khrminibang.livejournal.com/profile)[khrminibang](http://khrminibang.livejournal.com/) back in 2009, but I didn't finish it by the deadline. My minibang prompt was "death is such a messy business."  
>   
> Still consider this to be equally the most frustrating and rewarding fic I'd written for the fandom. SO much editing went into this damn thing ([](http://iluxia.livejournal.com/profile)[ **iluxia**](http://iluxia.livejournal.com/) & [](http://aventria.livejournal.com/profile)[**aventria**](http://aventria.livejournal.com/) shredded it to pieces for me, and [](http://corelle.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://corelle.livejournal.com/)**corelle** offered some post-editing feedback), but I think it came out much better for it. Even if it's basically an exercise in mindfuckery, haha.  
>   
> 

**I: refinement by fire**  
   
Death is such a messy business. You know this well, because you’re probably the only cognizant being on this earth who knows it as intimately as you do. The Six Realms of Hell you spent your childhood in are now your backyard. You know death like the back of your hand. You know what death is like in all its ugliest forms. There might even be a small chance that you can control death—to an extent, like you did with the girl you call Chrome. It’s still just an experiment, but that chance is still there because Chrome is a success.  
   
This is probably why the Tenth Vongola knocks on your door on a miserably bright day, and presents you with a broken, bleeding body that holds all the familiar signs of death. You look closer and realize that the mangled thing is still breathing (humans are funny creatures that just don’t know when to let go). Patches of silver hair catch the sunlight around all the bright splotches of red that cover the dying human, and you smirk in realization. You know this body—it was yours once, even if you possessed it for only a brief moment in time. You still remember it well: pain, loyalty, cigarette smoke, and a lack of social identity are all flavors you once relished in when you fought a much younger Sawada.  
   
“Please, help him,” an older, tired Sawada says to you now. You’re surprised that he’s so calm, cool and collected as he speaks, but you realize it’s all a façade when his voice wavers as he adds, “You’re the only one who can.”  
   
You’re a puppeteer and not a doctor; it’s pretty clear to you that Sawada knows the Storm Guardian is going to die. The fact that he’s asking _you_ means that he’s already asked Shamal; if Shamal can’t fix it, then there’s probably nothing that can be done. Vongola may have the best technicians and inventors in the underground criminal world, but their members are still mortals. You’re a last-ditch effort, and you’re not even sure you can help when you're asked to work with a body that doesn’t have a dominating Mist property.  
   
But the desperation in Sawada’s eyes intrigues you, because Guardians can be easily replaced. They’re human bodies, which are abundantly available. _Why go so far for just one Guardian?_ you wonder, especially since you know that Sawada is well aware of the cost of asking for _your_ help. If Sawada feels this way for all of his Guardians, and is willing to sacrifice so much for just one life…  
   
It isn’t _practical_ for the leader to be so concerned with minutiae, you think.  
   
On the other hand, you owe Sawada a great debt, and you both know it. He pulled you out of the dark, restrictive grasp of the Vindicare; he gave you your life back. He has the ultimate bargaining chip; it goes unspoken, but you know it’s still there.  
   
Sawada is also giving you the opening that you’ve been searching high and low for: he’s giving you his Right Hand Man. No matter what Sawada’s reputation might have been in the past, you know he’s no fool; he knows very well what he’s offering up to you in return. The Storm Guardian will be a perfect stepping stone to get to the top—if you can manipulate him the right way.  
   
You don’t miss the fact that this is, essentially, a win-win situation for you.  
   
“I cannot promise success, Vongola,” you say (you want to leave your options open in case you change your mind about giving your new toy back).  
   
You truly can’t promise anything; Gokudera isn’t a Mist specialist, and isn’t genetically modified to handle the realms of the afterlife. You _are_ equipped to handle the trip through Hades and back, because you have that cursed eye and a propensity for controlling illusions. You think of Hades as one long string of illusions, which is why it’s so much easier for you to navigate it. Gokudera is at a disadvantage, which makes this all the more challenging. You don’t even know if his soul will survive the journey through Hades; even if it does survive, you don’t know if he’ll awake again as _Gokudera Hayato_. For all you know, you could end up with an altered soul that no longer will be compatible with Gokudera’s (now) dying body.  
   
If all else fails, you can just do to Gokudera what you did to Chrome—you can patch it up with illusions, piece it back together, but it would mean that Gokudera will have your puppet strings attached to him. Unlike Chrome—a Mist specialist, who now controls her own life-saving illusions—Gokudera will be forever reliant on your existence. It’s a tantalizing thought, being able to control someone who cannot live without you.  
   
You’re thinking this through, which means you’re definitely going to go through with it. The process intrigues you now, and part of you can’t wait to try out this new experiment.  
   
Sawada is smart, and you can tell he has also thought this through. He chews on his lip before he replies, “I know. But it’s worth a try.”  
   
Your suspicions are confirmed now—the fact that he _knows_ you’re thinking about turning Gokudera into a puppet means that this is a risk he’s willing to take. He’s willing, even if it means that Gokudera may have to travel through Hades with someone he abhors and would never trust on his own volition. It also means that even if Gokudera doesn’t trust you, Sawada _does_. Before you can stop yourself, you’re smirking.  
   
Before you can begin, you know you’re going to need privacy. Even if Sawada trusts you, you know that he won’t like watching his friend have to go through Hell. It isn’t every day that you’re asked to lead someone through death’s hidden realms, after all, and you would prefer that this assisted walk goes uninterrupted. Sawada nods in understanding, and ushers his small entourage—the Rain and Sun Guardians—to the door, despite their worried expressions.  
   
Once the door shuts behind them, you turn your attention to the bleeding body sprawled out on the low table below you. Again, you’re smirking, and beneath the blood-crusted hair, sharp green eyes glare back at you. Red-daubed teeth are clenched in a poor show of the bravado of a dying man—this determined hatred isn’t new to you. You relish in it, because maybe it’s a hint as to where you’re going to end up first in Hades.  
   
“You’ll do well to follow my lead, Gokudera Hayato,” you say in Italian (because you never know if the others are listening anyway). “Let’s see which realm your current deed will lead you to first.”  
   
Blood dribbles out of the corner of Gokudera’s mouth when he coughs, but the intensity of the glare never falters, much to your surprise. He says nothing; perhaps this is for the best, because you know this isn’t going to be a pleasant walk in the park. You wrap a shroud of Mist around you both, just in case. You move his torn shirt away from his bloody chest before you remove your gloves (skin-to-skin contact always seems to have the best results). Lightly placing your fingers across the Storm Guardian’s forehead—it’s clammy and cold as ice—you focus in on those glaring eyes just one last moment.  
   
“See you in Hades,” you say with a smirk as you press your fingers just above his heart.  
   
The weak heartbeat pulsing beneath your fingers stutters and then _stops_ , and you’re both pulled away so suddenly that it almost takes your breath away with Gokudera’s final exhalation.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
There is fire, endless fire all around you, and the first thing you hear is the sound of an infuriated roar (it doesn’t sound quite human). The air is so thick with smoke and fury and tension that it’s suffocating just to draw a breath. _It’s all an illusion,_ you find yourself repeating silently, because this first jump always catches you off guard no matter what you do. You battle fire with fire, and as the air clears, you take the opportunity to look around you.  
   
You’re in the realm of Asura—of demigods who are neither all good nor evil, but have a little of each. It isn’t too surprising, considering what you know of your current charge. This realm is a dangerous one to begin with, though; it’s filled with power and struggle and warfare. You will have to tread lightly as you cross through, and make sure that Gokudera doesn’t stray from the path you’re going to lay out ahead.  
   
“What _is_ this place?” Gokudera’s voice is soft and worried behind you, and you cast a sidelong glance over your shoulder to see the Storm Guardian—no longer so broken and mangled—looking around warily.  
   
_Ah,_ so the Storm Guardian hasn’t noticed that he’s dead, you realize with a chuckle. “Don’t you know, Gokudera? You’ve died, and your mind has finally separated from your broken vessel of a body.”  
   
Gokudera blinks and looks horribly confused for all of five seconds, and then he growls, “This is your fault, isn’t it? Goddamn it! You creepy fucker, what have you done to me? These goddamned illusions of yours aren’t funny anymore, you know.”  
   
Oh, so it’s your fault now, is it? “This is hardly _my_ doing,” you reply. “It appears that _you_ have led us first to the realm of demigods. I suppose it makes sense, considering who _you_ are.”  
   
Gokudera frowns and wrinkles his nose in a stubborn gesture that seems so commonplace in indignant humans, you think. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
   
Your grin keeps spreading wider, and you hide it by looking to the path you’re imagining ahead.  
   
“It means that you’ve spent most of your life fighting. Doesn’t matter what you fight against, really—it’s all the same once you’re dead,” you explain. “The fact that you’ve made an effort to maintain a little of your soul in the midst of all the blood on your hands is your saving grace here.” You make a sweeping gesture at Asura’s realm. “This could have just as easily been true Hades, if you hadn’t cared at all about the people you’ve destroyed. It seems that you possess a decent soul after all, Gokudera.”  
   
He looks extremely uncomfortable now, which only continues to amuse you. It’s another quirk of humanity to be embarrassed when lives can be so quickly analyzed, even _complimented_ , once they’re broken down in the afterlife. You ignore his hesitation and continue walking down the path, knowing that Gokudera will continue to follow you in sulky silence. Gokudera will follow what is familiar, even if that familiarity brings hatred and mistrust with it.  
   
The path is long and treacherous. Each time that Gokudera ducks under the aggressive attacks of the warring demigods all around you, you remember your own first trip through here when you were so young and scared and _alone_. After recalling your own experiences here, you suddenly understand why you were able to break from this cycle—it’s why you can still see the path, why you’re able to see well enough to stay close to the Truth. You have the science-enhanced eye that leads you in Truth, which enables you to break the endless cycle of death presented here.  
   
And this eye is something that Gokudera does not possess. Again, it makes sense that Sawada, with his power of insight, would think to send you to accompany Gokudera—as a guide, someone who knows how to break free.  
   
As you realize each and every little detail of this situation, you can’t help but wonder if Sawada knows the full scope of what’s really going on here. But then you remember that he has the gift of ultimate intuition; he _has_ to have thought this entire thing through when it’s his best friend’s life in the balance. You can’t help but become more impressed with the young fledgling boss of the Vongola.  
   
You continue along the path until you come across a break, and you pause because this is no longer your choice; it’s Gokudera’s. You look down both paths; you can see the outcome of either road, but it isn’t your job to tell Gokudera which path to take. That’s part of your role in being a guide: you’re simply showing the way, and when there are more paths than one, the choice is up to the one being guided.  
   
“What is your Truth here, Gokudera Hayato?” you ask.  
   
“W-What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he snaps, looking confused and annoyed.  
   
You’re amused by his lack of understanding, but clarify it for him anyway: “What do you think brings you to the realm of Asura?”  
   
“How the fuck’m I supposed to know,” he mutters and looks away, but then his forehead wrinkles. It isn’t quite a frown this time, but rather a thought that you can see beginning to form behind the gesture.  
   
The Storm Guardian is an intellectual, a deep thinker and a keen observer, you recall. You remember the long trains of thought that bounced around in his mind when you had taken over his body that one time, and you remember how he’d had you figured out the moment you took over his body (even if he couldn’t do anything about it at the time). Sometimes you forget that he isn’t always a _shoot first, ask questions later_ kind of person, but it’s hard not to notice that now.  
   
“If this is the realm of Asura,” Gokudera says, shooting a sharp glance in your direction, “it means I’m one step away from real Hell.” He snorts mirthlessly, a wry grin tugging at his lips. “So I haven’t fucked up entirely, have I?”  
   
You’re smirking back at him, not really surprised that he’s finally starting to _understand_.  
   
“What is it that you’re doing right, then?” you ask, because you remember how much he doubts himself, and how his self-doubt is one of his greatest shortcomings.  
   
“I-I don’t know,” he says after a moment, and something in the way he says it tells you that he isn’t lying.  
   
You laugh quietly, take the path to the right, and continue walking. Gokudera sputters behind you in confusion and annoyance (some things never change), but he follows you anyway without further question. It’s as if Gokudera has finally realized that the only way he will be getting out of here is if he continues to follow your lead.  
   
When the path splits again, you stop.  
   
“Your greatest regret in life – can you name it?”  
   
Again, Gokudera takes the time to think through his response before he says, “That I am capable of failing the Tenth—that in many of my lifetimes, I let him die.”  
   
But that isn’t the full Truth, you realize. “Ah, but that is where you lie to yourself, Gokudera.”  
   
Gokudera grits his teeth and opens his mouth (to snap something back at you, most likely), but then he realizes that perhaps he is missing something in his own thought process. He looks almost amazed, and his eyes are wide as he looks back at you as if he is finally finding himself.  
   
“It isn’t the Tenth that I failed,” he says, awed. “It was me—my own life. I failed to protect _myself_.”  
   
You’re somewhat impressed that he comes to this realization so quickly, but you refuse to let him know it (it’s a matter of pride and all). This time, when you move down the left path that Gokudera has chosen, there is no longer confusion in his steps as he (again) follows. You know this isn’t the first time Gokudera has failed to protect himself (and it likely won’t be the last, if he makes it out of Asura’s realm alive), but at least the flaw is acknowledged once more. It is another step in the direction towards Truth, towards the way out of here.  
   
After that turning point, there are no more crossroads. It seems that Gokudera’s spirit has become more determined and surer of itself as you continue guiding him through the realm. The Storm Guardian doesn't flinch when the battles of the demigods rage nearby, nor is there fear left in his eyes. He is beginning to understand the significance of this realm, you believe. It occurs to you then that if he does make it out of here in one piece, this journey will have benefitted Gokudera more than he can fathom.  
   
The stronger Gokudera’s determination grows, the closer the end of the road seems to you. The path to Truth burns strongly in your altered eye, and when it burns at its strongest, you know that it’s time. You pause again and focus your gaze directly into Gokudera’s eyes.  
   
Hades is about desire, you remember, so you ask him a final question: “What is it you desire most?”  
   
Without looking away or hesitating, Gokudera answers, “To succeed – for the Tenth and the Vongola, and for myself.”  
   
The realm around you blurs, distorts and bends into the blazing light of the Truth. As you’re dragged mercilessly through the space outside time (it’s a pleasantly familiar feeling of pain-pleasure), the overwhelming sensory overload from Gokudera’s emotions melding with your own makes you smile uncontrollably—and this time, it isn’t only because you’re amused.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
Breaking through the surface is like coming up for air after a prolonged dunk in a deep body of water; you’re both left gasping for air, but there’s something so alive in that feeling that makes it all the more worthwhile. Your heart is beating so loudly that it reverberates in your ears, and the heartbeat in the chest under your fingertips is just as accelerated as your own. Liquid seeps down from your right eye, warm and sticky as it trails down your cheek and leaves an itchy line of fire in its wake.  
   
You frown, confused—the realm should not have affected _you_ , since you’ve been there before many times, and your life wasn’t the one in the balance this time. But something seems wrong and out of place, and you can’t quite place your finger on what has gone wrong. You remember the pain-pleasure from foreign emotions, and it’s making you feel extremely uncomfortable now that you’re in control of yourself again.  
   
A quick glance down to the table shows that Gokudera’s eyes are open, staring up at you and clouded in confusion—perhaps he has noticed the absence of his own blood, or that he is no longer dead (or both). You jerk your fingers away from Gokudera’s forehead and chest as if you’ve been burned, pressing them to your altered eye (that liquid was too thick for tears, and you don’t cry anyway). Your fingers come away slick with red blood—it’s yours—and the sudden need to get out of this small, stale room (it still stinks of death and gore) is almost overwhelming.  
   
A warm (alive) hand grabs your forearm; you look down and see that Gokudera’s frown is no longer out of confusion, but is rather from concern. And isn’t this just the strangest thing about humans? For some of them, no matter what you’ve done to them in the past, all you need to do is guide them through death for them to be at your mercy.  
   
But there’s this feeling of something stuck in your chest that stops you, fluttering and flurrying and trying to make its way out of your throat (it feels like it’s choking you). You pull your arm out of his grasp, and act on the impulse to just _get out—get out now getoutgetout!_ before you do something you’re pretty sure you’ll regret.  
   
“Mukuro–!” you hear him cry behind you (he’s too close, because when he cries out your name, it stabs you square in the chest), but it isn’t enough to make you stop.  
   
Later, when your chest stops aching and you can finally breathe again, you’ll think about this in a more logical manner. For now, you run and run; you just need to get as far away as possible before you do something all too human.  
   
   
   
**II: eye of the storm**  
   
Death is such a messy business. Bodies are strewn about haphazardly, and the enemy’s base is already a mess of rent flesh and spilled blood and gore—which you don’t mind, usually, but none of this is your doing this time. There are too many scorched remains, and the smell of atmosphere after a severe, intense storm is thick and stale as you breathe it in deeply. You aren’t quite sure why you received a distress call from Sawada to arrive at this meeting, because clearly the destruction part has already been taken care of.  
   
You follow the trail of dead, burned and mangled bodies through the wrecked former (familiar) estate of a family that you had once spied on and had once planned on eliminating on your own (you did notice that it was also a threat to the Vongola family, but their affairs aren’t your concern). But you hadn’t expected negotiations to go so poorly that Sawada and his accompanying Guardians would resort to such brutal destruction. But it’s just as well anyway—it’s not like you have sympathy for dead Mafioso.  
   
The trail leads to the large, conference room that was probably once ornate, where the negotiations were most likely to have taken place. You step through the door and over a dismembered arm to find Sawada waiting for you, Dying Will still activated and burning somberly on his forehead, expression sober and resigned.  
   
“Come with me,” Sawada says. Adds, without further explanation, “He was asking for you.”  
   
Your eyebrow rises, but you follow anyway as the Tenth leads you to a smaller room off to the side. You think it might have once been a lounge, but like everything else in this estate, it has been essentially destroyed save for a few chairs that have been spared delicious destruction. In one of these chairs the Storm Guardian, face streaked with blood and gunpowder and a glowing purple haze (familiar, isn’t it?) just barely visible around his hands. The Rain and Sun Guardians are standing by, Rain holding on to a heavily-bleeding injury on his arm, and the Sun looking a little worse for the wear.  
   
_Ah, so that’s what happened,_ you muse as Sawada steps aside and leaves an open path. You grin as you move forward, because the way that Gokudera’s shoulders are hunched and he seems to scoot as far possible away from you in his chair gives you a pretty good idea that he still is harboring some kind of resentment towards you (and it is a fantastic feeling to relish in). There is no other outward indication of such emotion, but something about the Storm Guardian’s aura you remember from your shared trip through Asura’s realm clues you into the truth.  
   
“Oho? What have we here?” Your grin widens at the sight of blood and gore at your puppet's hands; you can’t help yourself. “It looks like you’ve finally inherited something worthy of a Vongola boss’ right hand man.”  
   
“You bastard,” Gokudera hisses at you, but he isn’t even looking up from his hands—he can’t look you in the eye. “What the _fuck_ have you done to me?”  
   
He catches you off-guard (though a comment like that from _him_ shouldn’t have); you blink for just a few brief seconds before you laugh—bubbling, low and sinister when it crosses your lips. Of _course_ the human blames you for what has happened. It’s simply part of his nature. You can’t help but find his antics hilarious.  
   
“I have done nothing, Gokudera Hayato,” you dutifully remind him, and are hard-pressed to keep amusement out of your voice. “You recall that this is entirely the result of something that was your doing; you said so yourself, did you not?”  
   
Gokudera’s shoulders tense, and _then_ he looks up, eyes sharp and frowning with confusion and fury—but it’s not directed at you. Not necessarily. There’s just a hint of self-loathing in there somewhere, a little bitterness and remorse. These aren’t reactions that you understand, especially not after having gone through Asura a second time (even if you were only a guide) and having gained something further while giving him a boost as well. Did his increased fighting capability not please him? You don’t understand why he wouldn’t be glad to be so powerful now, to have such a strong capacity to maim and kill with minimum effort.  
   
“What happened— _is happening_ to me?” Gokudera asks in a whisper, holding his hands out away from his own body as if they’re dirty. And they are; Gokudera just needs to come to terms with the fact that he wielded these weapons on his own. Said weapons are shaking, the Dying Will flames flickering and wavering dangerously, and now you know why Gokudera had asked for you specifically.  
   
Because you're the only other one who _knows_ , who _understands_ what this feels like. It's a connection you're only starting to understand, only just now beginning to realize that it does exist. It's a strange and unfamiliar feeling, because it isn't just about possessing a body anymore. You're not sure you want an audience here to watch this exchange; they would never understand it.  
   
You look Sawada straight in the eye and say, “Get the others out of here.”  
   
Tsuna looks confused for all of three seconds, then his eyes narrow and he nods, ushering the Rain and Sun Guardians out the door with him. It takes mere seconds to clear the room. Once they're gone, you kneel down so that your eyes are level with Gokudera’s before you place your trident on the floor and grab the Storm Guardian’s chin with your leather-clad fingers, forcing your eyes to meet.  
   
“You’re going to have to learn to control these,” you say as you indicate Gokudera’s guilty, shaking hands with a downward flick of your eyes. “These are the bane of those who pass through Asura’s realm without proper reincarnation. _Your_ bane. You will need to cultivate and train in order to use this bane to your benefit.”  
   
“I-I don’t understand–”  
   
You feel the Dying Will flames that burn in your right eye like a familiar, warm companion. You focus on that feeling, and spin the number around to 四—shi, which is both death and the number four—and with tight control, you allow the flames to seep through to the surface. And, just to prove your point, you loosen your control ever so slightly. The flames burst forward so brightly they're almost blinding (even to you), and already you can feel the thick line of blood as it forms along the lower lid of your altered eye. Gokudera watches with eyes as wide as saucers, and you can see the bright purple flame in the reflection of Gokudera’s gaze. Without another word, you reign in the pulse of power that you feel coursing through your veins like a hit of a drug, and you reign in the high as if it’s nothing—no big deal, done this a thousand times before.  
   
“This is Asura’s mark,” you explain patiently, indicating your eye with a small motion of your hand. “It contains great power, but as with the demigods, it will always be at war within you. You need to learn to harness it, control it so that it doesn’t control you.”  
   
Gokudera stares at his hands, forehead wrinkling in concentration as he visibly tries to harness the purple flames surrounding his hands. The flames continue to flicker and sputter for a few heartbeats before they die out entirely, and when they do, Gokudera’s shoulders slump in relief. But he still looks troubled, and you can only imagine why.  
   
Gokudera opens his mouth as if to say something, and then stops himself in reconsideration before he tries again. “I… I don’t think I know how to train for this,” he says softly.  
   
_Ah. So that's the problem._ The corners of your lips curve ever so slightly as you regard Gokudera carefully. You know the boy has rarely been trained properly—you've occupied a part of his mind before, remember? He's always has been left to his own devices—and this is likely as much a favor as the boy will ever ask of you.  
   
“That is where I come in, Gokudera Hayato,” you say, and you don't care that you're sounding rather haughty at this point. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”  
   
… You aren't sure if you should be surprised or worried that Gokudera doesn’t fight you on this one.  
   
   
   
**iii: the devil’s apprentice**  
   
Death is such a messy business, but it isn’t difficult to acclimate yourself to it. This is one of the first things you explain to Gokudera: that there is no covering up this truth. That messing with death is every bit as dangerous and—especially in the case of humans—emotional as it is believed to be. But one of the first things about death that Gokudera doesn’t seem to realize is that he has already been there, and conquered it once (with your help, but the fact remains).  
   
Gokudera is a quick study; he observes, contemplates, and then attempts to mimic. It's clear that the Storm Guardian is an intelligent human being, but at the same time, you can tell that this current method is getting him nowhere, and that it’s only frustrating him more.  
   
After letting Gokudera painfully flounder about in his own methodology for a time, you finally step in on the fortieth attempt to summon the Dying Will flame by firmly placing your hand on Gokudera’s wrist.  
   
“Are you done trying to learn things the hard way?” you say, smirking when Gokudera glowers at you. “There’s a much easier way to learn how to use one’s own inner strength.”  
   
You move several paces away before you turn and, with a simple flick of your trident, summon a thick cloud of mist that blows away to reveal a wide array of enemies clad in Millefiore white suits. There’s an amusing squawk of surprise from Gokudera, who fumbles with the box weapons on his belt as he brings his Sistema C.A.I. shields into full force. But those don’t do much to protect against the attacks of an illusion, and the purple Dying Will flames don’t burst into full flame until Gokudera has already taken a few nasty hits.  
   
You stand by and watch (as impassively as you can manage) while the Storm Guardian nearly has his head severed from his body. At the last moment, he uses Asura’s flames on his hands to grab the attacking illusion’s blade, and with a roar, the enemy’s blade shatters to dust. Gokudera doesn’t hesitate to slam his other hand through the illusion’s body, causing it to dissipate in a violent puff of smoke. It's a satisfying feat to watch, and you relish in the illusionary bloodshed that's taking place.  
   
When all of his enemies are extinguished, Gokudera stands in the center of the room with his burning hands on his knees, breathing heavily and wincing as he tries to stand straight to face you with a sour expression. You approach with a pleased grin and a polite clap with your leather-gloved hands.  
   
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gokudera snaps, taking a swing at your face once you're close enough. The balled fist—still swathed in flame—passes by your face harmlessly, because you were fully expecting such a reaction out of him. “You could have killed me, you know!”  
   
You chuckle, maneuver quickly so that you're behind Gokudera, and lean in closely so that your breath rustles the silver tips of Gokudera’s hair and tickles his ear. You're so close that you can smell the remnants of fragrant tobacco from Gokudera's last smoke. You smile as your lips almost brush his neck while you say softly, “But you’re still alive, aren’t you?”  
   
“Bastard!” Gokudera swings his other fist at you, and you simply step aside.  
   
“You should know by now that the best way to learn how to harness a gift from Death is to face Death itself, Gokudera,” you say evenly, as if you aren't ducking under another wild (predictable) punch. “Or is it that you’re afraid to die again?”  
   
Gokudera grits his teeth angrily, but at least he stops making a fool out of himself as he lets his clenched fists fall to his sides. There is a moment of quiet, internal struggle, and Gokudera’s eyes snap up defiantly once he’s done thinking.  
   
“I’m ready for the next round,” he says. You smirk, and Gokudera adds, “You’re still a bastard.”  
   
Oh, if the boy only _knew_.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
It isn’t until Gokudera collapses several rounds later that it occurs to you: Sawada probably wouldn't appreciate it if you have to take Gokudera through a second round of Hell. Regardless of how much benefit such fatal training would do for Gokudera, it wouldn’t suit your purposes to have your puppet surpass you in strength. Instead, you sigh and call for a medic.  
   
Sawada doesn’t vocalize his displeasure—the young Vongola boss still had trouble being too confrontational, and it's something you want to fix for him (especially if he's going to be yours someday)—but it's written all over his face as he accompanies a half-dead Gokudera to the medical wing of the Vongola base. You smile innocently in return, knowing that there is really nothing the Tenth Vongola can say to you, especially since you both knew the terms of the unwritten contract.  
   
But even the Tenth Vongola looks confused when Gokudera grasps his hand from the stretcher and says something so quietly that you can’t hear. Sawada jerks in surprise, and then casts a wary, suspicious look in your direction.  
   
“He’s asking for you, Mukuro,” Tsuna says, and the confusion on his face echoes in his voice.  
   
You snort, chuckling as you follow. So there _are_ strings from your shared walk through death, and they’re being fed directly into your scheming hands. You wonder if Gokudera even understands what’s going on, or if it even matters at this point.  
   
Working with Gokudera as a puppet is proving to be far more interesting than your experience with Chrome Dokuro, and you’ve only just begun to travel down that path.  
   
   
   
**iv: pinocchio complex**  
   
Death is such a messy business, but sometimes it is damn fun to watch, especially when Mafioso are the ones dying. You're impressed with how easily Gokudera cut through the line of Vongola’s latest threat without emotion or hesitation, and it sends pleasant chills down your spine. You watch from the sidelines, possessing the body of an innocuous bird flying above the estate to observe from a distance your apprentice’s first foray into real battle.  
   
There is so much potential in the Storm Guardian—so much, that you find that you desperately want that potential all for yourself, and it makes you wonder how much stronger you can make your puppet by guiding him through the other realms of Hell. Maybe you can create a puppet so strong that none of the Mafia could ever stand against you, not even Sawada and his intriguing sense of justice.  
   
The fluttering feeling you’d felt in your chest after you emerged from Asura together returns in full force; it's so sharp that it takes you completely by surprise. Faltering mid-flight, you find your way to a tree branch as you continue to watch, ignoring the burning urge to fly far, far away from this place. You don't _have_ to be here, after all – it’s not like Gokudera absolutely _needs_ your presence in order to perform—  
   
And it’s then that you sense Gokudera’s eyes on you as he continues to fight. There’s a smirk there, an all-too-familiar one that you know very well because it’s _just like yours_. You feel the strings in your hands, and you know that you're only lying to yourself if you dare to think that Gokudera doesn’t need you, almost as much as you _need_ Gokudera. This is your doing, after all. You set it up to be this way—you're the master puppeteer in this show. It’s an addictive feeling, this kind of power, and you go back to watching Gokudera with a burning desire for _more_. After this battle is over, you _will_ have Gokudera going back to Hell with you.  
   
You suddenly return to reality, and remember to focus on the world outside Gokudera and your all-consuming desire to _possesspossesspossess_. It's a strange feeling, isn't it? You realize that it has to be another after-effect of the Realms of Hell. Desire. Perhaps even lust. It makes sense, though you aren't quite sure what to do with it just yet, so it compels you to stay even when you don't have to.  
   
With a smirk, you pull the strings, and watch as Gokudera _soars_.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
“Like hell you’re going to take me back there,” Gokudera snarls, recoiling as you reach out to him. “Just because you think it’s a good idea doesn’t mean I’m going to idly go along with it.”  
   
You blink in surprise—really, you should have known better—and burst into uproarious laughter. This is just Gokudera’s inherent stubbornness surfacing again, and it’s something you need to remember how to manipulate when you want something. It's just another errant string to tame.  
   
“Then our training for today is over, it appears,” you say with a grin, because you know what's going to come next.  
   
You turn to leave, but a shaking hand lands immediately on your shoulder—as expected. When you cast a sidelong look over your shoulder, you see that Gokudera’s eyes have retreated behind his hair, as if he’s afraid of what you'll see there. He’s fighting it—fighting with all his might to cut his own strings, like a foolish young Pinocchio, but he won’t get anywhere. He isn’t strong enough yet.  
   
With effort, Gokudera says, “Y-You are such a bastard.”  
   
Your smile widens, and you stay without forcing a _please_ out of Gokudera this time. Or perhaps it’s because you never intended to leave—you aren't even sure anymore. It’s a complex bond between puppet and puppet master that you're still trying to wrap your mind around. It's not the same as it was with Chrome, because there’s this inexplicable _need_ to be with the other that is blowing all logic out of your mind.  
   
You don’t know why you stay, really, or why you don’t force Gokudera to go through another realm of Hell with you (despite his stubborn insistence not to go there again). There’s that nasty little fluttering feeling in your chest again, and it seems to be repressing your desire to possess; to dominate this body before you that has your name and essence written all over it now.  
   
And yet, there is a spark in those green eyes that tells you that you still hasn’t completely dominated this one just yet—the strings are attached, but are loose in your hands.  
   
And that's what went wrong the day you came back from Asura’s realm: you hadn't led Gokudera along by a string there—instead, you'd stood by and played guide as you let Gokudera ultimately call the shots at each crossroad.  
   
As you realize this, you pause in your training session and chuckle. The strings in your hand are disappearing quickly, like a failed Mist technique losing its illusionary form. And the funniest part is this: Gokudera doesn’t even realize how much he has emulated his own master. Gokudera’s glowing fist is bearing down on you, and suddenly you notice that you've left yourself wide open: this is no longer a game of master training apprentice, but rather a struggle for dominance.  
   
The fluttering feeling of _want_ is almost suffocating, but this time you don't feel the urge to flee from reality just yet. You grab Gokudera’s fist as it flies past your face, and pull him in so that your noses are nearly touching. You can smell the stale cigarette smoke on Gokudera’s breath, the expensive Italian perfume he wears, and it's at this point that you give into the creature that has nestled its way into your chest. You move without thinking, and press your lips to Gokudera’s for a taste of the thing you've wanted _so badly_ since you’ve returned from Asura’s realm. Gokudera tries to push back once—fails—and then melts under your tongue and your touches.  
   
This, you decide, is something entirely new—you aren't attracted to Gokudera Hayato in the least, but there's something in him that tastes of Asura, and you _want_ it. You _need_ to dominate it with every fiber of your being.  
   
Gokudera may not have the strings attached anymore, but he certainly is pliant, like putty ready to be molded in your hands as they find their way under Gokudera’s jacket, hooking into his belt loops and finding their way to bare skin. Hesitant fingers find the way to the back of your head, lacing into the thick bunch of hair leading to your long ponytail, and holding you tightly in place. You smile into his lips when you see that Gokudera—while still noticeably confused—isn’t fighting you anymore.  
   
   
   
**v: limit-break: indetermination**  
   
Death is such a messy business. Of course, there are the deceased bodies to contend with, the blood to scrub away and destruction to repair, the loss of life and limb and souls fleeing to the afterlife to never be seen again in the same form. But messiest of all, in your mind, is the business of conquering Death, because the outcomes are never predictable.  
   
You trace a hand over the silky bare skin on the side of the sleeping human next to you, fingers drawing a path down to the sheet at Gokudera’s hip. There's no affection in the gesture; only curiosity, and a sense of memorizing this vessel that you've successfully dominated. Neither you nor Gokudera are so foolish as to misread whatever it is between you as anything other than fulfilling a base emotion—an emotion that is the direct result of a shared path through Asura’s clutches.  
   
But there was something in Gokudera’s eyes as you rocked mercilessly against him last night that you can’t quite seem to forget. It's a recollection that continues to stir that little quivering beast dwelling just next to where your heart should be. You pull your hand away as if it's been burned as the beast vibrates within you restlessly, but the lingering tingling sense of soft skin under your fingertips remains. This is a dangerous route, something you don’t know as well as Death, but it is so addicting that you can’t seem to pull yourself away. You can’t seem to differentiate anymore between the base desire of Asura, and the strange, suffocating feeling in your chest. You just _can’t_ pull yourself away, no matter how hard you're trying right now. (You wonder if you even want to.)  
   
The hand that stroked against Gokudera’s side now finds its way to your face, and you snort softly in a mirthless laugh. Death is such a messy business, but it's nothing compared to the mess that you've found yourself in now.  
   
  
**finito?**


End file.
